by Oliver Mayes
He didn’t realize just how many urchins he’d killed until he heard a telltale sound, different from the plink of the urchin spines, the schlunk of a kunai embedding itself in the beams or the unworldly screeches of his quarry. A happy noise.
Ding.
He’d hit level 49. Killing Mordred and ending that section of the quest had only brought him halfway there. How many urchins had he killed? An ungodly number, for sure. He hadn’t been counting, but he could check the time to get a vague answer. Forty-five minutes. He’d been at this for forty-five minutes already. Did it ever end? The fourth piece of Bartholomew’s set had definitely not been the halfway point. Maybe it just went on forever like this. There was no final piece of the set. There was no end to the long climb. He was supposed to fail.
Damien kept going all the same. He hadn’t logged out in the Dark Tower before – or in any dungeon, actually. Nothing would be worse than logging back in, only to be dumped back at the beginning. If this really did go on forever, that would be an incredible joke. Terrible for him, but undeniably brilliant and very much in keeping with his experience so far. At the very least, he’d get as far as he could before he had to sleep. Then he could try logging out on one of the beams and cross his fingers that he kept his place until the next day. There was no reason why it shouldn’t work. Then again, there was no reason why this shouldn’t have been over already.
He scrunched his eyes shut and focused. This place was making him paranoid. He had to keep himself together and make sure he didn’t get killed by an urchin, or worse, by falling. He had to keep climbing. Anything else was a distraction. There was no thinking himself out of this. He just had to endure. Maintain his flow. Give the very best performance he could, so if it did go wrong he’d know he’d done his best. He invested his stat points into agility and kept going.
He’d been at it for over an hour by the time he saw light. It was a long, long way away. But it was a change. Something different, something to look forward to. He was going to make it. A short while later, the urchin numbers noticeably dropped. There were less of them, and those that did appear were all gathered underneath the beams, where the light couldn’t reach them. Some thirty beams later, they were gone altogether. He was on the verge of finishing.
Now he’d had so much practice and there were no urchins in the way, Damien could really let it rip. He was ready to see the back of this place. He threw himself upward as high and as fast as he could, picking his spots and tearing toward the sunlight. He was nearly at the exit when he heard a faint screech from below. Then a whole chorus of them. His minions were yelling up at him for some reason.
Maybe he was moving too far out of range? He’d left them far behind and undefended. What if he’d passed some urchins without them detecting him? He knew imps wouldn’t be able to do anything about urchins, and he had no idea if the succubi’s attacks would be any more effective than they had been on Mordred.
Damien twisted in midair and swung near the outside wall, where the density of the beams was reduced. He positioned himself above one and threw both kunai into it, let gravity take him and pulled on both chains together.
He’d done this a few times upward already, but never down. It turned out doing it downward was faster. Much faster. Too fast. Much too fast. He’d badly miscalculated this. He could see a swarm of red bodies flying up to meet him. As soon as he was close enough to make out an imp at the front, he Demon Gated to swap places and momentum.
He was out in midair, but that was fine by him. A quick look around and a kunai throw returned him to stability. The bulk of his problems had already been handed off to the imp that screamed its way past him faster than terminal velocity, which was ended with a loud splat and an abrupt silence somewhere below them.
The two succubi stared at him, jaws agape. The imps, all fifteen of them so far as Damien could tell, let out a gasp simultaneously. He yanked on the chain and pulled himself onto the beam. Why wasn’t Noigel making himself known?
“Noigel, where are you? What was the screaming for?”
There was a brief pause, then all his minions dropped out of the sky, shrieking and choking. He leaned over his perch to watch as they landed on the beam below him and leaned over each other helplessly, wheezing for breath. What was wrong with them?
“Noigel! Status report!”
His minions started to howl. Only then did Damien realize they weren’t in danger. They were laughing at him. He double-checked the information above each of the imps’ heads in turn, just to be sure. Noigel wasn’t there. Oh dear.
He turned on the beam and gingerly began summoning a new imp to replace the one he’d obliterated in his stead. His minions clammed up as Noigel dropped out of the portal.
“Noigel, I promise that wasn’t on purpose. I heard you screaming—”
“—and decided to murder me.”
“No! I came as fast as I could and Demon Gated to the first imp I saw. I didn’t know it was you!”
“You can’t tell me apart from the other imps?”
“You were a long way away and the first imp I saw.”
“And you rewarded me for being the fastest to reach you by murdering me?”
“It was an accident!”
“Oh! I didn’t realize it was an accidental murder! My mistake, master. No harm done.”
Oh no. Noigel had acquired enhanced sarcasm. It was probably a symptom of his repressed anger, which he was not repressing very effectively: his shaking was now so pronounced it looked as though he might spontaneously Imp-lode.
“It wasn’t a murder. You sacrificed yourself for me when I needed you, and I’m grateful.”
“You sacrificed me for yourself because you acted carelessly, and I’m not grateful.”
“You don’t mind when I do it with the other imps.”
“You don’t mind when I kill other humans.”
“Because they’re usually trying to kill me!”
“They’re usually trying to kill me as well.”
Damien couldn’t argue with any of that. Even worse, he’d realized halfway through that he was the guilty party; he’d changed the argument repeatedly instead of conceding any of Noigel’s points, he hadn’t apologized directly for what he’d done yet and was all round not doing a very good job of keeping Noigel on side.
Damien grabbed the knife sling from around his waist and unequipped it, then held it out to his minion. Noigel had shown he had uses for the knives already, if only in playing games.
“Can you equip it?”
He tentatively held his hand out and Damien placed it in his open palm. Noigel wrapped it over his shoulder like a bandolier and it tightened. He looked like a little demonic pirate, equal parts cute and dangerous. Most importantly, he looked extremely pleased. He must’ve realized how happy he looked, because having examined himself for a few moments he abruptly scowled and folded his arms. Damien held out a closed fist to him.
“Now I’ll definitely be able to tell you apart from the other imps without any delay. I don’t know how good you’ll be at throwing the knives, but you can use them to increase your damage and assert your authority over the rest of our team. I’m sorry I got you killed for no reason. We good?”
Noigel pouted, then submitted. He gave Damien a surly fist bump. Damien was nodding in satisfaction when Noigel crouched, took a knife by the edge of the blade and sent it spinning toward the beam below. It was a different technique from the one Damien used, but the pained squawk of an imp below indicated it was effective.
Noigel’s first knife attack had been a sneak critical. Damien’s Soul Summon Limit dropped to 29 out of 30. Noigel could no longer conceal his glee. He clapped his hands together and cackled manically as Damien held a hand over his own forehead. Maybe this had been a fresh mistake. He pointed at the ground to summon a new imp as he tried to remain reasonable.
“Please don’t use it like that or I’ll have to take it off you.”
“They were laughing at me! I’m u
sing the knives to assert my authority, like you told me to. If I don’t keep them in check they won’t follow my orders as effectively.”
“I’m pretty sure they were laughing at me, Noigel, not you. Ask me for permission before you attack our own team, okay?”
“But master, If I’d asked permission you’d have said no.”
“Your logic is infallible. I’d have definitely said no. Don’t do it again. Now, what were you screaming about?”
Noigel had withdrawn another knife, prompting the minions below to take to the air. They needn’t have worried: he was only using it to pick his teeth. Noigel was making full use of his new accessory. He spoke through his closed jaw as he continued to pry at his gums with the blade.
“Oh, we saw a loot chest a bit further down which you went straight past. I thought you might want to open it. Master.”
“Noigel?”
“Yes, master?”
“Would you have told me about that chest if I hadn’t given you my knife sling just now?”
Noigel put on his best display of shock and hurt, his vocal cords grating against Damien’s inner ear. Damien wasn’t sure if it qualified as sarcasm, which meant if it was sarcasm it was extremely high grade. Deeply troubling.
“Of course, master! How can you doubt me, master? Haven’t I always—”
“Would you have told me before or after we left the dungeon?”
“I suppose we’ll never know. Master.”
“I’m glad you’re feeling better. Keep serving me well and I’ll keep rewarding you. Lead me to the chest.”
Damien followed Noigel down, more carefully this time. It was a little harder going down than it was up. He had less practice at it and gravity was now speeding him up instead of slowing him down, which conversely meant he had to take it slower. The effort was worth it, since he knew what he was moving toward. There was a hole in the wall, at the back of which sat the last chest. Noigel puffed his chest out and pointed at himself with his thumbs, signaling for a Demon Gate.
Damien chose to show he could do it unassisted. He opted for the more difficult route, swinging around three times to get the trajectory right before landing perfectly in the gap. Noigel shrugged and squeezed past Damien, attempting to juggle knives as his master retrieved the final piece of Bartholomew’s set.
Hooded Cloak of Self-fulfilling Prophecy
Description: A Nether-weave garment once worn by the Sunset Emperor: Bartholomew, Scourge of the World. To satiate his endless gluttony, Bartholomew aligned with forces he could not comprehend. He thought he was carving out his own destiny. Only when the cost came due did he realize he was a puppet, manipulated by the one who claimed to be his benefactor.
Level Requirement: 50
Stat Requirement: 200 Agility
Stats: +15 Agility, +15 Wisdom, +15 Endurance, +15 Constitution
Set Bonus: Sunset Emperor – +30 Agility, +30 Endurance, +30 Constitution, +30 Wisdom (1/5 pieces): Shadow Walker functions in broad daylight
Damien read the description of each piece of new gear in turn. There was a pretty clear message: someone had used Bartholomew the same way Bartholomew had used him. His master, presumably. Was Damien ready to upgrade his tier of manipulative master?
He’d already achieved most of his goals. He was level 49 and halfway to level 50. He’d acquired a whole gear set that would give him the ability to Shadow Walk at any time of day as well as providing an enormous boost to his stats. He had this magnificent weapon, along with all the utility and damage it provided. He could just leave, right now. He could make a portal and head to Bartholomew to demand an explanation, or go back to the Inner Circle where he’d left his concealed Gateway (assuming it hadn’t been discovered and destroyed in the meantime).
Yeah, right. He’d breached the Dark Tower and now he’d climb it, all the way to the top. His enemy was Archimonde, who’d almost certainly finished the whole dungeon already. Not to mention Magnitude. Damien would need all the help he could get. He’d come too far not to see what was at the end of all this. This was the path of progression the game had to offer him. He’d see it through.
“Alright, Noigel, let’s get this done.”
Damien resumed climbing, the light getting brighter and brighter. After five minutes of continuous upswings he found the source. There was a hole in the middle of the ceiling. Now he thought about it, he wasn’t sure how it could be so bright. It was already past midnight. He swung to the opening and the sun baked down on him, blinding him. Apparently this dungeon had no regard for such paltry concerns as the movements of celestial bodies.
He grabbed the sides of the hole and pulled himself through, his entire field of vision turning white as he tried to squint through it. He set foot on the platform above and a faint noise ran through his head. One of Damien’s all-time favorites.
Ding.
He was level 50. Glorious. Even better, three additional notifications arrived with it:
Level Up!
Summon Consumer Unlocked!
A new trait is available for selection. Choose wisely.
Building Upgrades Unlocked!
First things first. He’d been waiting a long time for this, and had worked hard for it. Damien put his last free stat points into agility, threw on all five pieces of Bartholomew’s gear set one after the other and admired his character page.
Class: Occultist
Level: 50
Health: 1,990/1,990Stamina: 2,140/2,140 Mana: 3,850/3,850
Strength: 59 Agility: 333 Intelligence: 59
Constitution: 199 Endurance: 214 Wisdom: 385
Stat points: 0
Experience: 19,850/50,000
Soul Summon Limit: 30/30 Soul Reserve: 8/10
Clothes really do make the man. The second notification was pretty much self-explanatory. Running his own private victory parade, Damien clicked it and was taken straight to the relevant section of his skill list.
Summon Consumer: Mana: 1,500, Souls: 8 – You point at the ground, searing it with runes to open a portal to the demon world. After channeling for 10 seconds, the portal is opened and a consumer arrives on the mortal plane. The consumer will serve you until it dies or is dismissed. Consumer stats improve every five levels.
One step closer to Archimonde. He still had the level 50 trait to assign! He went into the menu and read through his options.
Dark Omen: A black hole forms overhead then drops onto the location it was initially cast, inflicting catastrophic damage that ignores all armor and resistances.
Entropy: Spell damage reduces the damage resistance of enemies by 1% once per second, stacking infinitely. All stacks are lost after 5 seconds of spell damage not being applied.
Legion: Your maximum Soul Summon Limit is increased to 50.
The most important factoid was that wherever Archimonde had received his transformation, it had not come from this trait. Damien was further behind than he’d hoped. He sized them up one by one.
Having experienced ‘Dark Omen’ firsthand he knew it was highly situational: difficult to land, but conclusive if it did. He’d love to know the details, but not enough to take it as his trait. ‘Entropy’ was interesting. It was also no use to him at all. Damien relied on shock tactics and quick combat resolutions, not attrition. He wasn’t disappointed though, because ‘Legion’ was freakin’ sweet.
Five incubi. Seven succubi. Sixteen wraiths or hell hounds. Fifty imps. Fifty. Imps. The possibilities were mind-boggling. So long as he kept Noigel on his good side, he’d be able to manage a horde like that to devastating effect.
Damien selected ‘Legion’, nodded through the notification asking if he was sure and watched as the other two options grayed out. It was decided. He went back to his stat page, expecting his Soul Summon Limit to have increased to 50. It was a rude shock when he saw it stood at 30 out of 44. Hmm. Crap. His Soul Summon Limit had increased, but so had the wisdom required to reach the cap. Looks like wisdom’s back on the menu, boys.
I
t didn’t really matter. He’d have taken ‘Legion’ regardless. It was mildly annoying, that’s all. He’d just hit level 50 for crying out loud! Where was his instant gratification? Ah, whatever. A Soul Summon Limit of 44 was nearly 50% more minions than he could field ten seconds ago. What did he have to complain about? His wisdom was approaching 400. That was already incomprehensible.
Last, but not necessarily least, he had building upgrades to look forward to. A quick check indicated his Demon Forge could now be upgraded to Tier IV. If he had one. Ditto on his Gateway. That would require a bit more effort on top, after this was all done with. At least he’d extended the glass ceiling. More of the game was available to him, entirely due to his hard work.
While he’d been mulling over his new stats, abilities and trait, his minions had caught up and his vision had cleared. He closed the menu and saw something even more ridiculous than his stat page. Arcadia. All of it. He hadn’t realized just how high he’d climbed. If he jumped, he was at risk of exiting the stratosphere and leaving the planet. Assuming Arcadia was a ‘planet’. The curvature he could see from here implied as much.
He turned and found spectacle in every direction. He could see the homelands of all four races from here. The gleaming spires of Camelot, surrounded by the luscious plains of Tintagel. The sprawling metropolis of Orgri— no, wait, it’s Waaarrghkanda now: the sprawling metropolis of Waaarrghkanda, where resident clans fight for adjacency to the vast Sukhavati Oasis. The floating fortress of Ker-Uhel and her arrayed islands, held in orbit by magic and spite. And the site of V-Au-lt01, hidden at the heart of the largest natural landmark in all Arcadia: the supervolcano, Ragnar-Rock.
Humans, orcs, elves and dwarves, arrayed across the four corners of the world. All visible from a single place, through the clouds and under the baking sun at just past midnight. What a trip. Damien was so enthralled he didn’t realize the hole he’d come through had disappeared. He was not so enthralled that he failed to notice the enormous doorway that appeared in the middle of the platform. It was adorned with the biggest golden skull he’d ever seen, along with a message in gold cursive script across the top of the frame:
